


Confidence Women

by StarMaamMke



Series: Confidence [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drinking, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Other, implied joyce/hopper, jopper lite, joyce and karen are con artists kinda, karen and ted in a healthy relationship, ladies night, the sting references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Title is a spin on old fashioned term for con artists. Joyce and Karen go way back, and some of their high school exploits towed the line of legality. Life and adulthood placed them on separate paths, until Karen decided that the two deserved one night of fun. Fluff and silliness abound.Be sure to follow my blog, StrangerThingsFics on tumblr as well as my regular blog, StarMaamMke





	

**Author's Note:**

> The song Karen sings to Baby Holly is "Sammy (I'm Glad I'm Me)" by Hap Palmer, which is a staple for most early childhood classrooms. The idea for this fic came to me after watching the scene in ST where Karen breaks into her daughter's room by picking the lock to her door with a bobby pin, which led me to believe that Karen might not be the boring mom that Nancy claims she is. 
> 
> All characters except for the patrons of the bar belong to The Duffer Brothers. I claim no ownership, please do not sue.

Karen Wheeler always woke up before the sun was out – unless it was the summertime, then Karen would go from her bed to the bathroom to the kitchen with the orangey glow of dawn trickling in through the windows and flattering both the walls of her comfortably middle class home and her complexion. Not that anyone would ever be around to witness such a thing; Karen’s mornings always started about an hour before everyone else’s, even baby Holly’s. 

Karen would start in her en-suite bathroom, relieving her hair of its protective covering, liberating it from the plastic and mesh rollers that ensnared it. After brushing out and spraying up her perfectly set, honeyed waves, she would floss and brush her teeth, moisturize and apply a daytime-tasteful face. After that, she would dress in something soft and feminine, pretty enough to garner an appreciative grunt from Ted at the breakfast table, but serviceable enough to chase a toddler around for most of the morning and afternoon. 

Her journey to the kitchen would include a quick survey of the walls, baseboards, and mirrors that hung in the hallway as she made her way to the pantry. Toast, bagels, and cereal for the weekdays, bacon and eggs, pancakes, or a pre-prepared quiche for the weekends. She would make sure her son and daughter’s bagged lunches had their names on them, and if she was feeling sentimental, she would leave them a little note, her elegant, curving handwriting spelling out inspirational affirmations, placed lovingly into a little envelope before being slipped into the bag. Lately, when Mike and Nancy would get home and place their bags on the kitchen table, Karen found that these envelopes went unopened, and Nancy’s meals were largely untouched. Yet, every day Karen would repeat the same routine. 

If Karen had time after wiping down the kitchen, she would sit at the table and read a paperback or a magazine. These times were rare, because more often than not, Holly would pad unsteadily down the stairs and into the kitchen to announce to the world that she was awake and ready to attach herself firmly to her mother’s side. After attending to her youngest daughter’s needs, taking her to the bathroom to continue the arduous process of potty training if she was dry, diapering afresh if she was not, Karen and Holly would sit at the table, and Karen was more often than not pressured into regaling her daughter with: 

_If I were a bird, I would fly to the store, fly to the store, fly to the store…_

It did not seem to matter to Holly that Karen could not carry a tune to save her family, mommy was awake and pretty and singing and smiling. All was well in her uncomplicated toddler world. Holly would be halfway through her breakfast by the time the rest of the family started to trickle into the dining area, and she would always smile and greet them warmly, with increasingly mixed results. 

Ted would read the paper and drink his coffee, giving the odd grunt or hum when something in the news interested him. Nancy and Mike would either eat silently or bicker back and forth over some asinine thing, and Karen would just smile and tend to Holly until it was time for Ted and the older kids to leave. If it was the weekend, Ted would retreat to the living room or the backyard, and Nancy and Mike would go off with their friends, leaving Karen alone in a serene silence that was sprinkled with the prattling of her youngest. If the situation called for it, and in a house with five people it usually did, the two of them would run errands together. 

One particular Friday morning, Karen and Holly were picking up supplies from the General Store, when they happened to end up in Joyce’s checkout lane. Karen smiled warmly at her old friend, feeling a pang of sadness over the fact that the last time the two had actually had an honest-to-goodness night out was back before Holly’s was born, when Mike and Nancy were both very young. 

Joyce and Karen had been inseparable in their high school years, back when Karen had been a little wilder, and Joyce had been a little more carefree as well. Their high school English teacher referred to them as “Frick and Frack,” and the rest of Hawkins just knew them as “Trouble,” (Karen more so than Joyce). Joyce – always one to throw herself into tireless work– had been a dedicated student. Not the top of her grade, but doggedly devoted to staying on top of her course load. Not Karen. Any trouble Joyce found herself was usually intrinsically tied to an idea Karen had had racing around in her brain. 

By the time they were old enough to drive, Karen would drag Joyce to parties and bars outside of town; her capacity to “just know a guy who is throwing a thing” seemed fathomless. At one particular bar, Joyce displayed a preternatural knack towards games like pool and darts – especially pool – and an idea was born in Karen’s brain. 

Joyce was not a drinker as a general rule, which suited Karen just fine because she was, but she was not so naïve as to believe that it was perfectly safe to speed from town to town while under the influence. Joyce, glad to keep tabs on her friend and ensure her safety, more often than not stayed sober on their adventures. That was not to say that she could not act the part when Karen decided that the two of them could stand to make some pin money off of a few bar games. They had only been caught once, the two of them scrambling to Joyce’s Volkswagen to escape an angry and suddenly broke biker named Chet. Joyce had twisted her ankle running from him and nearly crashed her car trying to get out of the parking lot, and then had gotten stuck in a ditch about a mile down the road. It put a damper on their adventures for the duration of high school and for several years after. 

Their last girl’s night had been a showing of the movie _The Sting_. Both women harbored crushes on Redford and Newman, and the premise had tickled Karen’s sense of nostalgia. Also unsurprising, both women loved the movie, leaving the theater whistling Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer.” Later, on the car ride to an out-of-town bar, Joyce complained that the movie had not made it clear that Gondorff and Hooker were going to give any of the grift money to Luther’s family, which Karen thought was a typical Joyce thing to wonder about. 

The theme of nostalgia had not ended with the movie. When Karen noticed that Joyce was not partaking in any drinks, she had an idea. The two of them giggled over it in the bathroom, and Joyce was initially very hesitant. 

_We’re adults, Karen. Mothers. We could get into so much trouble!_

When a local got too handsy with Joyce near the jukebox, she changed her tune. The two approached the presumptuous man and his buddies at the bar, and Joyce apologized for being such a cold fish, introducing herself and her friend. A round was ordered, with Joyce taking a few sips and miming the rest. When the men weren’t looking, Karen would take a few liberal swigs off of Joyce’s drink. After one more round carried out in similar fashion, Joyce took on a loud and unsteady persona, challenging the men with slurred bravado. Amused at the sight of a tiny slip of a woman throwing down the gauntlet, the idiots accepted. 

Joyce allowed Mr. Handsy to “teach” her about the game, even smiling one of her catlike smiles as he snuck behind her to adjust her form as she bent over the table. Bets were made. She lost three games, “accepted” two shots of Jameson, and then won a game in a manner that made it seem like she was experiencing dumb luck. Karen pretended to be concerned for her friend, telling her that they had to be home as soon as possible because the next day the two of them had to prepare for Joyce’s garden party – the caterers had to be called and the stage had to be set for the symphony orchestra. 

Karen saw the “rich bitch” lights go off in the men’s eyes, and she knew that the trap had been set. Joyce loudly reprimanded her friend for being such a buzz kill. 

_S’my money, Karen, and I’m going to spend it here._

_It’s your dad’s money, Joyce. He would freak out if he saw you here, blowing your trust fund at the bar again! Do you remember how much you lost last time when you tried to play darts?_

Mr. Handsy proposed one more, winner-take-all round. It had been so easy. Usually Joyce was the one who had to make that challenge, letting Karen know that they would not leave until she had One. Last. Game. 

They had made over fifty that night. Karen collected the money from the men and the two women left the bar, laughing until their sides hurt. It took them fifteen minutes to compose themselves before Joyce was able to start the car and take them back to Hawkins. 

The next day, Karen realized that she had not given Joyce her half of the money, and then she realized that she did not need the other half. They bumped into each other on the street when Karen was headed to Joyce’s job to make the drop off. Joyce’s eyes narrowed when Karen handed her all of the money. 

_What is this?_ Joyce demanded, holding the money in her palm like it was something diseased. 

_It’s Christmas, Joyce. I know times are tough and…_ She trailed off when Joyce spun angrily on her heel, marched up to the front door of the General Store, and shoved all of the money into the red bucket of a bell ringer that had been standing outside, before continuing on into the store. Karen ran after her friend, eyes wide. 

_Hey!_

Joyce turned, face beet red and mouth set into an angry, thin line. Her shoulders were tensed and her hands were balled up into little fists. 

_Don’t ever do that to me again,_ she hissed. _I’m not a charity case, and my family isn’t starving._

_With Lonnie being laid off, I just-_

_Drop it, Karen! Thanks for the fun night._

Their friendship had suffered after that night. They got along because Will and Mike were friends, but they never reached the do-or-die closeness of their younger years ever again. Thinking on that night often made Karen remorseful. It had not been right, treating Joyce as though she was a starving orphan on a TV commercial, and Karen ought to have known that. 

“Hi, Karen,” Joyce greeted, returning the smile Karen had given, albeit without the sincere glow Karen had displayed. It was not as though Joyce was unfriendly; she was just cagey as of late, more so than usual, Karen supposed. It was no wonder, what with her Will going missing, allegedly dying, and then magically returning as though out of thin air… and whatever had happened at the school. Karen gave an involuntary shudder when she thought of how certain she was that her children had escaped serious, grave danger that night. That had been almost a year ago, and things were seemingly returning back to normal, at least at the Wheeler residence. 

“Big plans for the weekend, Joyce?” Karen asked, by way of making small talk. Truth was, she missed her friend… missed having friends, really. She was cordial with her fellow PTA members, but she did not have the history with them that she shared with Joyce. She was sure that they had all emerged from the womb with casseroles in hand and perfect hair. Karen immersed herself in that lifestyle, making sure her world was all pine-sol scented air and shining surfaces, but she flattered herself in thinking that she was a bit more than that… not that she knew for certain that her fellow mothers lacked substance, she simply did not have the time or energy to find out. 

“Working as usual,” Joyce replied with a shrug. “Although, Sunday I don’t have to come in until later in the afternoon. That’s _almost_ like a day off, I guess. Maybe I’ll watch a movie on TV if I can get the boys out of the house.” 

“Will is always welcome to come over to our house, and if you want Jonathan gone, I can probably convince Nancy to tutor him in whatever.” Joyce raised an eyebrow. Both women knew that Jonathan had a bit of a crush on Nancy, but had been playing third wheel to her and Steve Harrington. “I’m sure he can find something else to do with his Saturday, never mind.” 

“Well, thanks for the offer to take them off my hands, Karen,” Joyce intoned. Money was exchanged, and Karen and Holly went off on their way. 

Saturday evening rolled around, with the usual crowd showing up at the Wheeler residence. Lucas and Dustin arrived on their bikes, and Will was dropped off by Joyce. Impulsively, Karen found herself asking Joyce to stay around and have a few drinks. 

“I’m not much of a drinker, Karen.” 

Karen shrugged, trying to devise an excuse, any excuse, to get Joyce to stick around. She was crawling out of her skin, coming to terms with her newfound awareness of the niggling loneliness within her. She was not necessarily unhappy with her life, nor was she dissatisfied with marriage, despite what she had overheard Nancy tell one of her friends. Her life and marriage were fine. Karen enjoyed the things she had, and she loved the fact that she had matured into a focused and organized adult, able to appreciate her blessings and put in the work to maintain them. Teenage Karen would have scoffed if someone had told her she would enjoy being the perfect, Type-A, PTA mom one day. Suddenly, an idea came to her. 

“Ted bought a VCR the other day, and we have _The Sting_. Why don’t you stay and we watch it together? I’ll make popcorn, and place a bottle of wine on the coffee table. If you take a glass, fine. If you don’t, we have Coke. I would actually love it if you stayed. I can even banish Ted to his office, if you don’t want to deal with him.” 

She saw a ghost of a smile reach Joyce’s lips, the other woman's eyes cast down in thought. A few moments rolled by before Joyce quietly replied, “Okay. That sounds good.” Karen did a little cheer inside, thrilled that she would have someone other than her husband and her children to talk to for once. 

“Well, okay! Holly’s already asleep, the boys are in the basement, and Nancy is upstairs studying. It’s like we have the house to ourselves!” 

Once both the popcorn and wine was popped, Karen and Joyce settled in on the couch for the movie. Karen smirked when she saw Joyce fill up a glass with cabernet. The movie, which Karen had watched over a dozen times, was infinitely more enjoyable with an increasingly tipsy Joyce around. She did not even mind when her friend brought up the old argument about Luther. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s implied that they’re going to take care of his family, Joyce,” Karen reasoned in shushing tones when the tiny woman’s voice raised to a not-so-indoor pitch. 

“But is it?” 

“Yes. Otherwise it’s just revenge for the sake of personal gain.” 

“… Okay.” She appeared somewhat satisfied with the explanation. 

The movie ended, and Karen was struck with another one of her ideas. 

“Hey, Joyce?” 

“Hmmm?” Joyce was pouring the last of the wine into her glass, intent on not spilling. Karen had only had a single glass. She did not want to ruin Joyce’s moment, especially when she knew that if anyone was in need of a drink, it was her. 

“When was the last time you had a night out?” 

Joyce shrugged, sipped, and set the wine glass down. She looked up towards the ceiling as though trying to recall a memory. She gave a short laugh and looked back at Karen. “I really couldn’t tell you, to be honest.” 

Karen felt alive with the promise of possibility. “Would you like to?” 

Joyce immediately appeared uncomfortable. She looked down at her hands, which were resting on her knees, and she took a deep breath. “Ummm… Well, Karen, I have work tomorrow and I need to make sure…” 

Joyce was cut off when Karen leaned forward and placed a perfectly manicured hand on Joyce’s shoulder. She felt the tiniest involuntary flinch beneath her hand and pulled away, cursing all of the things in Joyce’s life that would make her immediately pull away from a gesture of comfort. Lonnie, probably; although, realistically, he probably wasn’t the sole reason, which was unfortunate. 

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you, but you did say you didn’t work until tomorrow afternoon. Why not take advantage of the fact and let yourself have a little fun?” Karen let a devilish smile brighten her face. “Maybe even make a little money?” Her voice was low and conspiratory. 

Joyce opened her mouth as though to say something in reply, but gave a strangled, scandalized laugh instead, her dark eyes wide. She had understood the implication completely. “Karen, are you serious?” 

Karen nodded. Her smile never left her face, and her eyebrows were raised. She was practically giddy at the thought and very close to flat out begging Joyce to go along with the plan. 

“You do realize that you’re the treasurer of the PTA, right?” 

Karen pursed her lips and glanced to one side, as though she was really and truly considering the validity of Joyce’s argument. After a few seconds, a smirk came to her face and she shook her head at her friend: 

“Oh, we won’t pull this in our school district.” 

Shortly after, Karen perused her closet until she found an outfit for Joyce to wear. She chose a short sleeved, A-line, navy blue cotton dress with a pattern of white flowers embroidered at the collar and skirt. The dress had ivory buttons running from collar to hem and a navy blue belt to cinch the waist. Joyce made a face in the mirror as Karen handed her friend a soft wool cardigan. 

“I look like Gabrielle Henderson,” Joyce complained, referring to Dustin’s mother, vice-president of the school board. Karen nodded. 

“Yes, exactly. Come on, let me do your hair.” 

After Joyce was appropriately coiffed, complete with a blue headband, she and Karen applied makeup in Karen’s en-suite bathroom, the lights of the vanity mirror so bright that Karen noticed her friend rapidly blink a few times to adjust to the brilliance. 

“I cannot imagine what your electric bill must be,” Joyce complained, while curling her eyelashes. 

Karen had to stop herself from replying, _I guess I don’t think about it._ Cavalier responses like that were fine with fellow WASPs like Christina Barton, but with Joyce – whom everyone in Hawkins assumed thought about money a great deal – it seemed cruel and not a little classist. 

“Don’t go so dark with the eyeshadow, Joyce. You have a role to play tonight.” 

Joyce stuck her tongue out at her friend, dampened a cotton ball, and worked to fix her eye makeup. Karen slid her a palette containing soft pink and neutral tones. 

They headed downstairs shortly after, Karen pleased to see that the two tall glasses of water and aspirin she had given her friend in an effort to sharpen her up a bit seemed to be working. Joyce appeared, by all accounts, perfectly sober. They both poked their heads through the basement door to say goodnight to their respective sons, and Karen walked into Ted’s office and let him know that she and Joyce were going to be out for the evening, so it was on him to make sure the house did not blow up or get taken over by men in suits again. He looked up from his typewriter, turned in his high-backed, leather desk chair, and smiled at her from across the room. 

“You ladies have fun, Karen. I know it must get a little lonely here with just us to talk to, so I’m glad you and Joyce are reconnecting.” 

Karen was touched. Ted was not a man of many words, and usually those words were awkward and occasionally offensive to the listener. On the outset, Ted seemed to exist in a haze of obliviousness, but Karen knew that most times he was just considering every possible outcome or thinking of something else entirely. Karen had not married him because he was a master linguist, she had done so because he was steady, kind, funny, and (yes, Nancy!) financially solvent. 

“Thanks, Ted.” She crossed the room until she was standing at his side and bent over his chair to press a quick kiss on his upturned face. He placed a strong, warm hand on her bottom and squeezed affectionately. 

“You call me if there’s any trouble.” 

Karen gave him a longer, more lingering kiss, and then stood up with a mischievous grin. 

“We are the ‘trouble,’ sweetheart.” 

Ted turned back to his typewriter. “That’s nice. Make sure you bring me a cut of whatever you ladies bring back tonight, I need to fix the roof.” 

Karen laughed; her husband was not ignorant about her past adventures with Joyce. “Get fucked, Ted.” 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

Karen shrugged and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder, bending low once more, to whisper in his ear. “You know very well what I do with this mouth.” 

Karen and Joyce decided to take Karen’s car. They drove to the outskirts of town and zeroed in on a hole-in-the-wall country bar called Tessie’s. It appeared to be a converted barn, complete with weather-beaten hardwood floors and walls and a distinct musty smell. Karen kicked dusted pretzel remnants off of two leather-clad bar stools, and the two women took a seat. 

“I’ll get the first round, Gabrielle,” Karen announced with a covert wink, surreptitiously tapping the side of her nose with her forefinger. Joyce attempted to cloak an amused snort behind her hand. 

“Thanks, Chrissy.” 

The bartender, a kindly, frizzy haired woman of small stature and middling age took their orders, two vodka cranberries, which Karen figured was a safe warm-up order. The pool table was being utilized by what appeared to be a battle-of-the-sexes game, so the two women decided to wait. 

Three drinks later, Karen realized that Joyce was not sipping, but she was too enraptured by the conversation they were having to care. 

“I have to ask, Jo-… Gaby: Was Lonnie, like, _really_ good in the sack? Is that why you stuck it out so long?” Karen was leaning forward, mildly concerned with the lack of control she seemed to have of her head, which seemed to tilt to one side or the other of its own accord. Her face felt flushed, and she had tied her cardigan to her waist. It was unseasonably warm for a spring night, she thought. She fanned her face, and then dodged Joyce’s hand as her friend punctuated her shrug by throwing her hands in the air. 

“I mean, he was okay. Two kids are one hell of a motivator to try to make a marriage work.” Joyce leaned over, and Karen had to back off slightly to stop their foreheads from touching. “To be honest, when we were ‘going at it’, I found myself unable to stop thinking of …” 

“Hopper!” Karen finished for her, cringing at the involuntary loudness of her exclamation. Joyce had a history with Jim Hopper. They had dated in high school during one of Joyce’s “off again” phases in the smaller woman’s history with Lonnie. Karen liked Jim and had often wondered if the two were on the path of making it work again, especially after what had happened nearly a year ago. 

Joyce wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. “No! David McCallum. God, he’s such a dream.” 

Karen was taken aback, so much so that she nearly fell backwards off of her stool. “Wait, you used to think about Illya Kuryakin while you were in bed with your husband?” 

Joyce nodded emphatically, a blush deepening on her pale cheeks. “Of course! Didn’t every woman?” 

Karen shook her head. “Not me.” 

Joyce frowned and tilted her head to one side, picking up her drink… when had Karen ordered whisky? 

“Then who?” 

“Ted.” 

Joyce choked on her drink, set it down, and then held her stomach with one hand as she laughed uproariously, the other hand anchored onto the top of the bar. Karen felt indignant at her friend’s reaction. 

“Why is that funny? 

Joyce composed herself, noting that her friend was not amused. “Hmm. I mean, no offense, but it’s just… Ted. He’s just so, I don’t know, he’s just so Ted.” 

Karen folded her arms under her chest and glared. “Oh? How many times did Lonnie go down on you when you were together?” Joyce reeled back slightly, nearly missing her chance to grab hold of the bar to stop herself from slipping. 

“Chrissy!” 

“Well?” 

Joyce straightened her posture, scrutinizing Karen with a lowered chin and narrowed eyes. “He does that?” She stage whispered in awe. 

“Early and often.” 

Joyce shook her head, sadly. “The last time someone went down on me it was Hop beneath the bleachers in the gym.” 

“So, like a month ago?” 

“When we were still in high school, Kar-… Chrissy! Jesus Christ. I’m not seeing anyone right now, least of all Jim Hopper.” Joyce covered her face with her hands, as though completely mortified at the line of questioning. 

“… He’s huge, isn’t he? I always wondered and you never told me.” 

Karen’s right arm stung from the punch Joyce delivered to it. They both gave a start when they felt a presence behind them. Karen turned around and saw a balding man of average height grinning down at the two of them. He wore blue jeans, a Ted Nugent t-shirt, and a denim jacket. 

“Y’all look a little out of place,” he drawled. 

Karen found her focus shift. Here was a man. She granted him a beatific smile that reached the corner of her eyes. “Well, hello,” she greeted, batting her eyelashes appealingly. Joyce muttered a greeting while sipping at her drink. 

“All alone tonight? Why don’t you join me and my pals over there?” he asked, gesturing to a small booth near the pool table where three other men were sitting. Karen nearly gasped at how well the evening was turning. 

“We’d love to! Wouldn’t we, Gabby?” 

Joyce nodded her head and also her drink, which was clutched in her hand. It spilled a bit on her dress and the floor. 

“Hey, boys,” Karen purred as one of the balding man’s friends poured beer into plastic cups and handed one to Karen and then Joyce. “The pool table is empty, and my friend Gabrielle has been taking lessons at the Y; wouldn’t it be fun play?” 

The four men looked at each other, grinning. “Sure! I can help you if your form gets sloppy, little lady,” a man with long black hair and a lot of arm tattoos offered. His eyes were leering, as was his smile that peeked out beneath a thick, black moustache. 

“Bless you,” Joyce demurred. 

“Wanna make it teams?” The balding man asked, throwing an arm around Karen’s shoulders. She repressed the urge to flinch and giggled instead. 

“Heavens, no! Gabby is the one who likes to play bar games when we visit from the city. I’m just here for conversation and to make sure she gets home safe. That’s what sisters are for, after all.” Joyce and Karen exchanged glances. Joyce tried to tap a forefinger to her nose and misjudged, the tap landing dangerously close to her eye. Karen felt a jolt of panic when she realized that Joyce’s beer was gone and was again reminded that her friend had not been fake drinking at all. 

“It’ll be fine,” Karen reasoned. 

“Huh?” The balding man had a confused expression on his face. 

“What?” 

“What will be fine?” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Yes you did.” 

Karen laughed nervously. “Go get me and my sister another round.” 

Ultimately, Joyce decided to play against the balding man’s short, pudgy friend. As Joyce was clumsily pulling a pool cue out of its rack, Karen approached her, face lined with concern “I think we may be too drunk for this,” she whispered. 

Joyce made a show of balancing the pool cue on her outstretched forearm. Karen assumed it was meant to inspire confidence. The tiny bartender swore at the both of them when the cue slipped and hit the ground with a loud _‘crack_!’ 

“Sorry!” Joyce bellowed across the bar. She picked up the cue, face flaming in embarrassment. “I’m pretty sure we can still do this. Just keep the others distracted, and give me a signal if you think things are going to go south.” 

“What kind of signal?” Karen asked in a panicky tone. 

Joyce took her friend by the shoulders and leaned in, face intense with purpose. “You will know what to do.” She released Karen so suddenly that Karen nearly lost her footing, reeling backwards slightly. 

“Fuck,” she muttered as her friend stumbled over to the pool table. Karen had never, ever seen Joyce so drunk, not even at her own wedding reception. She needed another drink or three to quell the anxiety bubbling over inside of her. 

Joyce, as per the grift, giggled and fumbled her way through the first game, allowing the short man – Bill – to coach her in her form. Karen stood up, excusing herself from her conversation with Bald Lou, Long-haired Hec, and Other Bill. “Hey, let’s put down some money on the game, now that my sissy has the gist.” 

A monetary amount was agreed on, and Joyce biffed one game and then another. Karen tried to finish Joyce’s drinks when the others were not looking, but it was becoming difficult to divert the other men’s attention and wrestle the drinks from Joyce’s thirsty mouth. When the time came for Joyce to perform a shaky win, she only managed to trip over her own feet and spill an entire drink down the front of her dress -- Karen’s dress, and a favorite of hers. 

Karen ran up to her friend and pulled her aside. “I’m get… getting you a glass of water,” she hissed sloppily, out of earshot from the men. 

Joyce made a _‘pfft’_ noise and shook her head. “You’re not my mommy, Karen,” she slurred, shrugging off Karen’s grasp on her shoulders. 

“This is not going well.” 

Joyce tapped the side of Karen’s nose and giggled before returning to another game. 

Halfway through the next game, a familiar man walked through the door to Tessie’s. He was very tall, very solid, and very bearded. Despite the fact that he was not in uniform, all Karen could think to mutter was, “Shit. The police.” If ever there was a time to signal to Joyce that trouble was afoot… 

“Frog!” Karen screeched, startling the three men in the booth. Joyce looked up from her pool cue and mouthed _What?_ with her face scrunched up in confusion. 

“Frog! Jo-… Gabby, Frog!” She stood up and pointed dramatically at Jim Hopper, who took notice of her and headed over. Joyce turned towards where Karen was pointing and went pale. 

“Karen, Joyce… what brings you out here?” the chief of police asked with a quizzical half-smile. Karen shook her head, silently willing Jim to get in on a ruse he had no prior knowledge of. He arched an eyebrow and looked from Joyce to Karen, expectantly. 

In the end, it was Other Bob who spoke. He was shorter than Jim, but easily the tallest of the four men. “I think you’re mistaken, friend. This is Gabby and Chrissy; they’re visiting from the city for a will reading. Their great-aunt died, and they’re the poor soul’s only kin.” 

Karen shrank under Jim’s glare, which he directed at her and no one else. Years ago, when Joyce had driven her car into a ditch during the night of her and Karen’s final High School grift, the girls had walked the two miles to Jim’s house at the edge of town. Joyce tearfully gave up the entire scheme somewhere between walking through his front door and begging him to take his father’s tow truck to where her car waited. 

“No, I think _you’re_ mistaken,” Jim intoned. Joyce squeaked his name, and Karen sat down, burying her face in her hands. “They’re not Aunt Glenda’s only kin.” Karen looked up, and Joyce’s jaw dropped. Jim closed the distance between him and Joyce, throwing his arm around her shoulder. “I know I’m late, but traffic from Gary was unbelievable. I’m glad the two of you found a way to while away the time.” 

Karen stumbled out of the booth and ran to Jim’s other side, hugging him tightly. “It’s okay, b-brother.” She hiccupped. “Thank you,” she whispered against his chest, reveling in how soft and wonderful it felt to hug him. He was like a giant understanding teddy bear with a serious drinking problem. 

She looked up and saw the stony look on Jim’s face as he assessed the situation. Joyce appeared to have fallen asleep at his side, and the four men were all staring at the trio. Karen pulled away, self-conscious at the sight of an audience. 

“Why’d you call them Joyce and Karen then?” Lou asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Nicknames,” Jim lied. He looked down at Joyce and nudged her awake. She straightened her posture and blinked up at him, giving him a bleary smile. “Looks like I need to get them home; the reading is at 9 AM.” He offered Karen an arm and placed a guiding hand on Joyce’s back. The three of them started towards the door. 

“Hey… hey… HEY!” Bill shouted at their retreating forms. Jim froze, and Karen tried to pull his hand to get him to keep moving. Joyce leaned her head against his arm to keep from falling over. 

“What?” Jim asked, his deep voice booming and dripping with irritation. He turned towards the smaller man, taking Joyce and Karen with him. Karen’s fuzzy mind deduced that this was his night off, and he was more than likely annoyed at being too honorable to not play babysitter to the pair, especially when all signs pointed to them being on the precipice of trouble. He was giving Bill one of his patented glares, the one that a young Joyce had once told him made him look like a serial killer, post capture. 

“Those girls owe me money, that’s what!” Bill, probably emboldened by drink, strode up to Jim, hands on his hips. 

“… Have you been scamming my sisters?” Jim asked, his voice low and deadly. 

“Come on, man; those stupid bitches are the ones holding the money!” 

Joyce’s eyes opened wide at Bill’s derogatory statement. Before Jim or Karen could do anything to stop her, she lunged for the man, landing a fist directly against his nose. Karen had not expected to see so much blood from one punch. So, so much blood. 

Bill’s friends merely watched as the scene unfolded, and the bartender shrieked out threats, saying that she would call the police. Karen grabbed Joyce from behind, dragging her tiny, angry friend by the midsection. Joyce was much stronger than she appeared. 

“I am the police!” Jim shouted back as they finally made their way out the door and into the parking lot. 

“What the fuck, Karen?” he asked, as the pair helped Joyce into the backseat of his jeep. Joyce had calmed down, reverting to her previously sleepy form. Jim buckled her in and took her right hand, examining the knuckles for signs of damage. 

“We were… listen; we were just having a little bit of fun, Hop. Why are we putting her in _your_ vehicle?” she asked. Jim said nothing, as he pulled a first aid kit off of the floor of the backseat, opened it, and began dabbing the blood off of Joyce’s knuckles with an alcohol pad. Seemingly satisfied with the knowledge that none of the blood was hers and that her hand wasn’t broken, he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, gesturing for Karen to get in. 

“You’re both getting into my vehicle.” 

Karen put her hands on her hips and glared, shaking her head at the open door. “I brought my own car, thank you!” She swayed to one side, but caught herself, slapping at Jim’s proffered hand. 

“Your designated driver is asleep in my backseat.” 

“Am… am I under arrest?” 

Jim groaned, covering his face with one hand and placing the other on his hip. “No,” he explained through his hand, his voice slightly muffled. “I am doing you a favor as a concerned friend.” 

Karen shrugged and pouted. “But you just got here, Hop. Let’s all go in and have another drink so the trip will be worth your while.” 

“Again, Joyce is passed out in the backseat.” 

Karen threw her hands up in the air, defeated by Jim’s logic. “Fine! God, Mr. Calloway, you are looking _really_ good for someone who’s been dead for 17 years,” she grumbled, referring to Joyce’s father. 

“That’s really not funny. Get. In.” 

Karen gave Jim another withering glare and reluctantly climbed into the passenger’s sidet, where she strapped herself in and sank back into her seat, wincing as Jim slammed the door shut. The gravel beneath his boots crunched as he made his way to the other side. 

“Turn on the sirens so the assholes inside know we mean business,” Karen requested as Jim put the key in the ignition and started the engine. 

“This isn’t a police vehicle, Karen. Do I _look_ like I’m on duty?” he asked, waving a hand over his attire, a green flannel and faded blue jeans. 

“You sure act like it,” she replied, closing her eyes with a smile. 

“Hilarious.” 

The jeep made its way down the country roads, and Karen fiddled with the radio. 

“Don’t mess with the presets,” Jim warned. 

Karen rolled her eyes. “Okay, cowboy. Can I ask you a question?” 

“No.” 

Karen pressed on, “So, Joyce…” 

“Is passed out in the backseat; yes, we’ve established that.” 

“Do you like her? I mean, do you _like_ like her?” 

And silence. Karen noticed Jim’s grip tighten on the steering wheel, the white at the tip of his knuckles barely visible in the dark. She heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Obviously I _like_ like you both enough to not want your car wrapped around a tree.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yes, I do. Tell you what; you can come by the station tomorrow and ask me the same question once you’re sober. I’d really like you to remember me telling you that it’s none of your goddamn business.” 

“Stop. Fighting.” Joyce moaned from the backseat. “So loud.” 

“Yeah, stop being so mean, Hop,” Karen chided. 

Ten minutes later, Jim pulled into Karen’s driveway. “Do you want me to leave her here with you or drive her back to her house?” he asked, glancing back at Karen’s snoring friend. 

“She can stay on the couch. Her car is here.” 

Karen allowed Jim to carry Joyce through the front door and into the living room. Joyce was definitely not in any condition to walk, and Karen wasn’t steady enough to drag her anymore. She gave the couch a quick dusting with her hand before setting down a large pillow and signaling for him to lay Joyce down. Karen threw an afghan over Joyce and turned to Jim. 

“Shoo,” she ordered with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“No, really. It was the right thing to do; you’re embarrassing me,” he cooed, sarcastically, before turning away and letting himself out through the front door. 

The next morning, Karen walked down the stairs to find Joyce gone and the afghan neatly folded and placed at the corner of the couch, a smoothed out pillow resting on top of it. It was about 10 am, and the rest of the family had woken and prepared their own breakfast – Ted had dropped Will off at the Byers’ home an hour earlier. 

“How was Joyce?” Karen asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee and carrying a plate of dry toast to the kitchen island. She felt miserable, like her head was stuffed with cotton but also 20 pounds heavier. 

“Asleep,” was Ted’s response as he pushed a glass of orange juice towards her. 

Later that afternoon, after Ted drove her back to Tessie’s so she could pick up her car, Karen found herself walking into The General Store in order to check on Joyce. The brunette looked utterly exhausted. Her normally ivory complexion had a sickly tint, she had dark circles under her eyes, and Karen spotted a large bottle of water at the woman’s side. 

Karen grabbed a few necessities and stepped into Joyce’s check-out lane. Joyce smiled wanly through her very visible discomfort. “Hey, Karen.” 

“Hey, Joyce.” 

“I feel like death.” 

“I believe it.” 

Joyce sighed painfully and began to ring up Karen’s purchases. “Maybe we should just stick to movie nights.” 

Karen grinned, feeling giddy at the implication that Joyce wanted to continue their friendship. “I’d like that.” 

Karen paid Joyce, and Joyce gave her change and a plastic bag of items. Before Karen turned away, Joyce grinned and tapped the side of her nose. Karen repeated the gesture on her own nose and found herself leaving the grocery store, whistling the tune of “The Entertainer”. 


End file.
